win. Quite probably you are familiar with Bobbie Burns, sergeant, and
will recall easily these words, 'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men
gang aft agley'? Well, instead of proceeding, as originally intended,
to the delightful environs of Glencaid, for a sort of a Summer
vacation, I have, on the impulse of the moment, decided upon crossing
the Styx. Our somewhat impulsive red friends out yonder are kindly
preparing to assist me in making a successful passage, and the citizens
of Glencaid, when they learn the sorrowful news of my translation,
ought to come nobly forward with some suitable memorial to my virtues.
If, by any miracle of chance, you should pull through, Wyman, I would
hold it a friendly act if you suggest the matter. A neat monument, for
instance, might suitably voice their grief; it would cost them far less
than I should in the flesh, and would prove highly gratifying to me, as
well as those mourners left behind in Placer."

"A breath of good honest prayer would serve better than all your fun,"
groaned the sergeant, soberly.

The gray eyes resting thoughtfully on the old soldier's haggard face
became instantly grave and earnest.

"Sincerely I wish I might aid you with one," the man admitted, "but I
fear, old fellow, any prayer coming from my lips would never ascend
very far. However, I might try the comfort of a hymn, and you will
remember this one, which, no doubt, you have helped to sing back in
God's country."

There was a moment's hushed pause, during which a rifle cracked sharply
out in the ravine; then the reckless fellow, his head partially
supported against the protecting bowlder, lifted up a full, rich